


Entice

by LoversAntiquities



Series: Shameless [14]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Rimming
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-09
Updated: 2018-06-09
Packaged: 2019-05-20 06:12:46
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,352
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14889155
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LoversAntiquities/pseuds/LoversAntiquities
Summary: Castiel doesn’t sleep. Or, at least, he doesn’t need to. That still doesn’t explain the many nights he spends in his room at the bunker, blankets pulled tight and his pillow tucked at awkward angles under his head. At most, he rests fitfully, never quite sitting still long enough to sleep for more than a few minutes at a time; the mattress isn’t comfortable, the air is stale, and all that Castiel can hear is the foundation settling and the soft snores emanating from the rooms down the hall.Some nights, he lies there and listens to Dean sleep, his pulse a steady thrum through layers of concrete and empty space. Only then does Castiel find solace in resting alone, as long as he doesn’t lose the connection. As long as Dean doesn’t stray too far away.And some nights, Dean comes to him.





	Entice

Castiel doesn’t sleep. Or, at least, he doesn’t need to. That still doesn’t explain the many nights he spends in his room at the bunker, blankets pulled tight and his pillow tucked at awkward angles under his head. At most, he rests fitfully, never quite sitting still long enough to sleep for more than a few minutes at a time; the mattress isn’t comfortable, the air is stale, and all that Castiel can hear is the foundation settling and the soft snores emanating from the rooms down the hall.

Some nights, he lies there and listens to Dean sleep, his pulse a steady thrum through layers of concrete and empty space. Only then does Castiel find solace in resting alone, as long as he doesn’t lose the connection. As long as Dean doesn’t stray too far away.

And some nights, Dean comes to him.

They don’t talk about it in the daylight, when Sam and Jack and Mary are in the room together—always the same room, always with wandering eyes. Dean never looks his way until the high wears off, and only then do they enter each other’s spaces again, speaking in hushed whispers and, more often than not, shared laughter.

But in the darkness, all Castiel can feel is a single heated gaze, can hear the stuttered, racing rhythm of a beating heart. Tonight, he feels Dean let himself inside more than hears him, the lust wafting off him palpable, inescapable. Like always, Castiel continues to feign sleep, curled onto his side and pillow tucked underneath him—and like always, Dean pulls the sheets down and off and crawls onto the bed, where Castiel then turns onto his stomach, lying himself prone.

Because what Dean wants is Castiel at his most vulnerable—and Castiel is always willing to give.

Thumbs tuck and curl into the waistband of Castiel’s boxers; Castiel’s stomach flutters, such a familiar feeling nowadays, and his heart skips when Dean tugs them down, allowing the fabric to slide down the swell of his ass, the bulk of his thighs. Castiel doesn’t lament when they’re gone, especially when Dean’s hands meet bare skin instead, sliding up the tender underside of his knees, kneading whatever flesh they find. Enticingly, the backs of Dean’s fingers trail over his ass, and all at once, Castiel knows what Dean wants. What he’s always wanted, even more than sex and kisses and the filth of their continuous lovemaking.

What Dean wants is for Castiel to submit. To bend to his whim, to give himself over to pleasure in all its iterations. With that knowledge, Castiel spreads his thighs, just a little, enough for Dean to work his way between them, knees butting them open just a bit wider. Open-handed, Dean palms Castiel’s flesh, working him open in soothing, circular patterns, exposing his sensitivity to the open air.

A finger skirts up his perineum, and briefly disappears, only to return just a bit wetter, slick from Dean’s tongue. Dean circles the digit over Castiel’s rim, and just barely, Castiel fights back a shudder. They always start out like this, slow and methodical, like the teasing is the most vital part of their entire rendezvous. And perhaps, Castiel thinks, it is. They can go for hours like this, just touching and caressing in ever manner possible, and Castiel will come harder than he ever has, just from being cherished and worshiped, with fingertips and teeth and tongue.

 _Tongue_. Castiel shudders with the first kiss, this one to the base of his spine. A promise, perhaps, of what’s to come next, of where Dean intends to go. He wanders for a bit, allowing Castiel to fall into the lazy rhythm of lips against sleep-warmed skin, teeth nipping at corded muscle and immediately soothed by the flat of a tongue.

Never once does Castiel make a sound while Dean works, never once twitching or sighing or letting on that he might be enjoying this. Fingers trace down his cleft on occasion, wet digits spreading him open. Massaging, almost; Castiel clenches out of reflex, earning a laugh from Dean, low and hollow in his chest. “Hi there,” Dean whispers before dipping in—Castiel all but forgets how to breathe.

Dean’s mouth has always been one of Castiel’s favorite parts of him: the soft swell of his lips, the way his tongue peeks between them on occasion, and the honeyed words he speaks when Castiel is like this, spread out and loose-limbed. His tongue, though, is exquisite in a way Castiel has never been able to quantify. Deftly, Dean feverishly licks over where Castiel is most sensitive, hands gripping Castiel’s thighs each time he dives in, only surfacing to breathe or to swear praises like obscenities. Castiel hugs the pillow tighter—no use pretending now—and bites the plush mound to keep himself quiet, even as his hips lift incrementally, allowing Dean access, opening himself up.

“There you go,” Dean soothes, thumbing Castiel open again and licking closer, delving deeper inside. “Open up for me, babe. Nice and wide.”

With the warmth of Dean’s tongue, Castiel can’t help but obey.

Nails sink into Castiel’s hips; Castiel’s knees slip on the sheets, much to Dean’s delight. Steadily, a fire burns in Castiel’s gut with every lick Dean offers him, solely from his tongue and the scrape of stubble against his thighs. He’ll regret this in the morning, surely, but for now, Castiel delights in it, chest heaving in pleasure, mouth caught in a permanent moan. “Dean,” Castiel pants, just as Dean reaches between his legs to stroke Castiel’s hardness unevenly. The fist Dean provides gives Castiel something to thrust into, and he takes advantage of it to the fullest, effectively riding Dean’s face while he chases his own release, frantic, at the brink.

“I got you,” Dean says, too sure of himself for his own good. The promise of it, though, keeps Castiel grounded, even when Dean pulls his hand away and continues to lave his tongue wherever he pleases. “You wanna come like this?” Dean asks during a reprieve, and sits up long enough to rub the clothed bulge of his cock into the wet cleft of Castiel’s ass. Castiel’s mouth waters just thinking about it, about how just last week, Dean took him like this as well, whispering sweet nothings into Castiel’s ear while Castiel came on nothing but Dean’s cock.

Just the thought makes him twitch, orgasm creeping closer. “Yes,” Castiel mutters, shoving back again, adamant this time. _Just a bit more_ , Castiel thinks, eyes slipping shut. “Yes, Dean.”

Dean doesn’t talk much after that, too busy finishing the job to chide Castiel on how easy he is. Castiel isn’t easy necessarily, but Dean has always had a way of getting what he wants, and Castiel can’t bear any longer to tell him no. Again, Dean allows Castiel to thrust into his fist, and this time, he applies enough pressure to let Castiel really feel it, all the way to his toes. A few more shoves, and Castiel comes with a winded sigh, vision sparking and skin tingling. Even then, Dean continues to lap at him, but slower now, bringing Castiel down, keeping him rooted to the bed, to Dean’s touch, and Dean’s touch alone.

“Good,” Dean mutters after he retreats. Draping himself over Castiel’s body, he kisses Castiel’s temple and presses his fingers to Castiel’s lips, sodden with his own release; Castiel sucks them in without hesitation, tonguing between the digits and earning Dean’s stuttered moan. This has always been his favorite part, the intimacy after the flood, how tightly Dean holds him, like he never intends to let Castiel go.

“Good boy,” Dean repeats, and Castiel feels him again, Dean’s cock riding Castiel’s cleft in erratic bursts. Wetness seeps through the fabric, and Castiel moans right along with Dean, Dean’s whimpers near-deafening in the silence.

Castiel prides himself with that, kissing the tips of Dean’s fingers after he lets them go. “You too,” he says. Dean collapses at his side, and Castiel can’t help but smile, kiss the corner of his eye. “Good boy, Dean.”

**Author's Note:**

> This is all Xylodemon's fault so BLAME JULIE. 
> 
> I'm on [tumblr](http://tragidean.tumblr.com) and [twitter](http://www.twitter.com/loversantiquity).


End file.
